Less Ordinary
by AlreadyPainfullyGone
Summary: Dean and Castiel's parents are dead. From the ages of 6 and 4 they share a room at the childrens home they end up in. Dean means a lot to Cas - Father, mother, brother, best friend, and quite possibly everything else as well. Incest, not creepy, I hope.
1. Chapter 1

_Ok, there are plotty reasons why this is all ok, but to reveal them now would ruin the point – so you'll just have to trust me. I had this idea after reading another fic and was left with the idea that Castiel makes a much better brother than Sam. So yes, whilst this is technically an incest fic, it does have a point and I'll try not to let it be weird. _

Dean's parents died when he was six. His brother, Castiel was only four. Within a year he'd forgotten that John and Mary Winchester were his parents. From then on he knew only that he lived with his brother, Dean in the Weston Children's Home, and had done for all his living memory.

It wasn't the worst childhood. Dean and Castiel shared a room, sleeping in the same sagging double bed every night. During the day they were inseparable, Castiel followed Dean wherever he went and Dean always made some time just sit in their room so that Castiel could read without worrying where he'd gone.

A few of the kids found them weird. Dean was a product of his father's influence. Named for James Dean, raised for his six years to believe in hard work and family. Castiel was the youngest, babied by their mother, named for the angel of his day of birth, he was introverted and devoted to his older brother.

It didn't bother either of them that they had no friends outside each other. Castiel didn't notice and Dean didn't care.

Dean is 12 - Castiel is 10

A bed opens up when one of the kids get's adopted. Castiel moves down the hall, his books disappear from their shared shelves, his clothes vanish from the closet. Dean sleeps the way he always has, on his back, on the right side of the bed. Except now Castiel isn't there, curled on his side facing the wall.

He worries about him.

It turns out that Castiel can't sleep without Dean. In fact he can't remember a time when he and Dan haven't shared a room, or a bed. For three nights he doesn't sleep, just lies in his new bed and wonders what Dean's doing, if he's awake and somewhere else.

After the fifth night Dean starts to notice.

"Cas! Hey, Cas?"

His brother's eyes which have glazed over in front of the TV, snap back to attention. He's pale, almost grey and the dark circles under his eyes are deep grooves of shadow.

"What?"

"You ok? You look like a zombie, man."

They're sitting with their backs to the couch, Castiel leaning slightly against Dean's side and picking at a hole in his T-shirt.

"Jus' tired." He lets his eyes close and sags further against his brother, falling asleep for the first time in days. Dean rubs his hand against Cas's spine and goes back to watching Batman taking out the Riddler.

That night Castiel finds his room emptied of his things. He cracks open the door to Dean's room and see's all his books and possessions back exactly where they used to be. He crawls into bed beside his brother.

Castiel sleeps properly and dreamlessly. Dean realises how tense he's been, the second he feels Castiel weighing down the mattress he relaxes. His family is beside him again.

Neither of them mentions moving out again.

Dean is 14 – Castiel is 12

The first time it happens, Dean wakes up at four in the morning with loose limbs and a heated spreading dampness on his thighs. The details of the dream have already faded, something about a redhead with pale skin, but its effects are obvious. Feeling sated and more than slightly ashamed he shrugs off the sheets and gets up, heading for the washroom.

Castiel stirs.

Dean waits, not daring to move, he can't stand the idea of his brother waking up and seeing this. He's never been shy about his body before, not with them sharing a room, but now he is. He's acutely aware of his coarsening body, the first signs of hair and muscle that separate him from Castiel, because he's still a child and Dean isn't. Tonight is the last straw, the dream that left him arching into the damp spread of come on the sheets. He's changing and he hates it, because Castiel won't understand.

He doesn't wake up.

Dean gets to the washroom, cleans up and creeps back to the bed. With a handful of crisp paper towels he scrubs at the dampness on the bed, hoping it hasn't seeped into the box spring. Castiel moves, opening his eyes to the slant of light from the bathroom door and the sight of his brother.

"Dean?"

It's quiet but he still jumps guiltily and snatches the soiled paper behind his back. Castiel frowns sleepily at him.

"What's..." He casts a bleary gaze over the bed, catching on the small but obvious dark place on the sheet, taking in Dean's boxers, clean ones that he wasn't wearing when they got into bed. Dean's face burns with shame and disgust. Castiel shouldn't see things like this. Shouldn't even be in the bed with him now that this is happening.

His brother's face doesn't crumple with disgust though, or even with curiosity. He just takes in the little details of the scene in front of him.

"Oh" he huffs in understanding, and just like that he settles back into the bed, not turning back onto his other side, but watching Dean. His eyes making clear the message – _Hurry up and get back here so I can go back to sleep. _

Dean unfreezes himself, tosses the paper towels into the trash and gets back into bed, avoiding the damp patch. It puts him slightly closer to Castiel than usual, and for a second he's worried, it might happen again during the night and he doesn't want it to be near or _on_ Castiel. His brother makes the decision for him, moving closer until his head is resting against Dean's shoulder.

"Night" he mutters sleepily.

It happens again a few nights later, more often after that as the advent of puberty progresses. Dean grows taller, broader and his voice begins to break, much to the amusement of everyone at the home. The light dustings of hair on his body grow thicker and darker until eventually he forgets what it was like to be smooth and fragile.

Every time he wakes up, sweating and half moaning into the mattress with release, it wakes Castiel too. After a while it stops being awkward, he forgets that there was a time it didn't happen. Castiel accepts it for what it is, like he accepts everything else about their life. Because it's Dean, and nothing of Dean could be strange to him.

Next to Cas, Dean finds he looks a lot older, more than ever he tries to look after his little brother. Now that he's growing up, growing stronger, all that strength is going into being Castiel's guardian. He knows he can't replace his father, a man he can barely remember, but he tries anyway.

Dean is 16 – Castiel is 14

Dean's first girlfriend it a cute redhead called Anna. She's in his fourth period biology class and she's the only thing that keeps him from skipping it.

They've been dating for three months before she points out that she's never seen his house. She knows he lives at the home, but she still wants to meet his 'family'.

Bobby and Ellen are nice enough people, Dean has no misgivings about introducing her to them. Its Cas he worries about, that and their living situation. He's now very aware that there's no reason for them to share a bed, that it's plainly weird. He doesn't want Anna meeting Cas and freaking out.

He already got a weird visit from his social worker who pointed out in no uncertain terms that Castiel should have his own room. There's no way Dean can explain that it's normal, that it's nothing weird. Cas just likes having him around and Dean likes keeping an eye on him. Even the other kids, the ones who've been there for years, accept it as perfectly fine. Though the new arrivals avoid the Winchester kids and give them weird looks when they fall asleep together on the couch or on the rare occasions they hug. Because despite the way they sleep it's unusual for them to touch.

He takes Anna to the home anyway, introduces her to Ellen and Bobby and the kids (Ash, Jo, Ruby, Meg and Madison.) Castiel is in their room reading so Anna meets him last. He shakes her hand nervously, but with genuine warmth.

"Hello"

"Hi, Cas right?" inwardly Dean flinches, the only fight Castiel has ever been in was over the use of his nickname. Though personally he thinks Michael was a douche for using it, and a douche pretty much all round. Castiel makes no comment, it doesn't seem to bother him.

"So...this is your room?" There's more than one question there.

"Actually" Castiel cuts over Dean "Dean's room is down the hall." As he ushers Anna from the room Dean shoots a questioning look at his brother. Castiel just shrugs and smiles, a little sadly.

The room down the hall, the room that was Cas's for a week years ago, is now filled with Dean's stuff. Castiel must have done it earlier that day, but it looks lived in, there's even laundry on the floor.

Even when Anna pulls him into a reasonably engrossing make out session, Dean can't stop thinking about what Castiel's done for him. He not only gets that most people are squicked out by the idea of them sharing a bed, but he cares enough to make a room up for him so that he doesn't have to explain it to Anna.

He doesn't have to ask why – Anna makes Dean happy, so Castiel would do whatever he could to keep her around. He'd done the same with Michael, who had been Dean's friend for a while when he first arrived. Because of that Cas had kept the bruises covered up, hadn't told him all the ugly things Michael said to him until Dean caught them fighting. The one and only time Cas had hit back.

"You should have told me" He'd raged afterwards, dabbing at the cut over Cas's eye.

"You liked him." The way Cas says it shows he thinks it a good enough reason to take a few beatings in silence. Just to keep Michael around for Dean's benefit.

"I like you more." He'd said, quietly, still focused on cleaning his brother up.

And the weird thing is that he likes Castiel more than Anna as well.

He likes Anna, he really does, because she's nice and smart and has a fucking awesome sense of humour. But then he gets all that from Cas, the only thing he needs from Anna, the only thing he gets from her that he can't get from Cas, is sex. It makes him feel guilty, incredibly guilty, because if it weren't for his libido he probably wouldn't be with Anna. It's hardwired into him that he only needs Cas, and so what he can't get from, and doesn't want from Castiel, he has to find elsewhere.

He breaks up with Anna a month after the visit, not telling her that he does it because she deserves better. Because she's an awesome girl, and better than being just a lay.

He keeps his things in his new room, using it for the other girls he brings home after Anna. Girls who are alright, pretty hot actually, but not girls he likes, or has fun with. He's learnt his lesson there. So he gropes them on the single bed, gets pretty far with some of them, and eventually loses his virginity there too.

But he still sleeps down the hall in the shared bed, and Cas never questions it.

Dean is 18 – Castiel is 16

Castiel groans in his sleep and wakes Dean up, leaving him blearily conscious but still half in his own dreams, wrapped in almost suffocatingly hot sheets. He's almost convinced he heard nothing, and is allowing his heavy lids to close, when the sound comes again. Castiel's groan, broken with need and roughened by the fact that his voice has changed.

Dean recognises the sound and inwardly kicks himself. He should have expected this. Cas might be going through puberty late but he has been going through it. Dean's noticed the height he's gained, gangly as ever, and the prickling hairs along his legs that catch at Dean's occasionally beneath the bed sheets.

Beside him Cas's breath comes, shallow and rasping into a frustrated whine. It's either his first wet dream or the first really vivid one, because Dean hasn't noticed anything before. He doesn't know what to do, but feels weirdly protective of Castiel and oddly affectionate at the same time. From the sounds of things this is going to be so good for him, and that almost pleases him, until he realises how strange that is.

Cas gasps and arches with a strangled groan, flopping onto his back and opening his eyes. His hips move languidly beneath the sheets, sweat sheens his shaking body. Dean waits for the shocks to subside, until Castiel comes back to his senses. He looks shaken, confused and not a little freaked.

Dean edges gently closer and lays his head on Cas's pillow, nudging his mouth against Castiel's ear.

"You ok?" It comes out gruff, his voice rasping into the quiet. Castiel nods shakily, looking anything but. Dean isn't surprised, it's not like his brother has shown any interest in sex, any indication what so ever that he does anything in the shower besides _shower_, or that he likes anyone or anything in that way at all.

He huffs a breath against Cas's shoulder, feeling his brother bury his face in his sleep tangled hair, still coming down from his orgasm. Which was probably his first. Dean lets him lie for a few more minutes, then shifts him gently.

"Go get cleaned up." He whispers, watching as Castiel slides out of bed and through the dark towards the washroom. When he gets back, Dean stays close to Cas's side of the bed, lying close but not touching.

Cas's dreams are not as frequent as Dean's used to be, but they are more intense. He almost always wakes Dean up by moaning or mewling in his sleep, and his release leaves him shaken and needy. Every time it happens Dean slips over to his side of the bed and lies close to him, 'warming him up' he thinks, irrationally because if anything Cas needs cooling down. In reality he just needs to be there for his brother when he's vulnerable, or in need of comfort. And it's in the time after his intense orgasms that Cas is the most vulnerable Dean has ever seen him. All wide eyes and messy, sweat soaked hair. It stirs a painful surge of something in his chest.

It's around this time that Dean turns 18 and leaves the home. He's old enough to be Castiel's official guardian, old enough to get a job and move them into their own apartment. Initially they get a one bedroom place because it's cheap, and they don't really need a second room, not now Dean isn't bringing girls home from school. If it comes to that he figures Cas can just sleep on the couch.

Their social worker visits a week after they move in. When he sees the solitary bed he does a double take. Inwardly Dean curses, knowing that he should have thought this through. As brothers he and Castiel could almost get away with sharing a bed. Now he was Castiel's guardian and allegations could and would probably be made if it looked like he was taking advantage.

He saw the social worker, Zachariah Phelps, take in Dean's tall, broad frame and then Castiel's much thinner body. Sure there was only a two year age difference, but Dean looked like he had at least five years on his brother.

Zachariah tightly informed him that it might be wise to get Castiel his own room. There followed a brief interval while Dean waited for the social worker to talk to Cas, probably giving him the 'show us where he touched you' speech. His stomach dips suddenly when he realises how their post-...well post wet dream petting is probably not something that would go down well. Especially not with Zachariah who looked like he'd been disowned at birth.

Castiel doesn't give anything away, not that there _is_ anything to give away. But somehow Dean is less sure of that than he used to be, he knows what they're doing isn't wrong. But it is moving further away from what's normal in everyone else's eyes.

It's not like he can love Cas less.

When Zachariah finally leaves, Castiel edges into the living room and sits next to where Dean is sprawled on the couch. His dark hair is spiked up in all directions where he's run his hand through it in thought.

"So I guess we're moving." Dean sets the remainder of his beer aside and rubs a hand across his face. He really doesn't need this shit right now, not with his pay check stretched as it is. He's only a bartender, how the hell is he supposed to afford a bigger apartment and keep them both fed and the heating on? For the first time he wonders if Castiel might be better off back at the home.

"Can we afford it?" The little mindreading bastard.

"No, but I'll work something out." He says, with more confidence than he feels. Castiel says nothing, just goes to make them both dinner. He's good at that, better than Dean anyway. Since he turned sixteen it's been less 'Dean taking care of Cas' and more 'Cas and Dean getting things done between them' less punchy but it's a nice change.

Which is why it shouldn't surprise him when, next evening, Castiel comes homes with news.

"You did what?"

"I took at job at the diner near the police station." He breezes around the kitchenette, setting up plates for spaghetti.

"Cas..." he struggles for a second "you...you didn't have to do that. I can take care of you, ok?"

"And this makes it easier." He shrugs, stirring one of the pans vigorously and pointedly ignoring Dean.

And ok, it's a good idea, and definitely a weight off his mind, but he can't shake the feeling that he's failed somehow. Castiel is his to look after, has always been his responsibility and he likes doing it. Dean likes feeling needed. But then he has to admit that maybe Cas feels like it's a bit one sided. Which is crap because he's giving Dean a lot just by being there. It's all too hard to explain so he settles for changing the course of the conversation.

"Bitch"

Castiel half turns with one of his rare, full on grins. For a second he looks so grown up that Dean's stomach twists in surprise.

"Assbutt."

Dean is 19 – Castiel is 17

"How was work?" Dean yells from the couch. He has to yell now, the apartment is just slightly bigger than the last one. Castiel toes off his shoes and collapses on the seat beside him. His T-shirt is sticky with sweat and there's a mark on his jeans. He looks completely exhausted.

"Alright." He murmurs noncommittally. Dean just passes him a beer from the side table. Castiel unscrews the top and they both return their attention to the action movie playing out on their portable TV. After a while Castiel yawns.

"Tired?" Dean asks, pointlessly.

"Just a little." He blinks to clear his eyes. "I think I'll go to bed."

Dean can't help feel guilty. After the visit from Zachariah he and Castiel had managed to land a new apartment, one with two bedrooms. They'd been living there for a few months now and Dean was getting the distinct impression that Castiel hadn't had a good night's sleep for almost as long. Between that and the double shifts he was working just so they could afford the place he was beat most of the time.

He was also never going to say anything. Castiel was stupidly heroic about his own suffering and would probably keep quiet about a broken limb if it meant saving Dean the grief. Add to that how paranoid Cas was that Zachariah would split them up and his brother was probably never going to sleep again.

Dean cleared his throat and briefly wondered why this felt like asking someone to spend the night with him.

Possibly because kinda was.

"You want me to..." Cas looks at him, grateful and hesitant all at the same time.

"Yes" he manages, drily.

"Ok...I'll be there in a minute."

He turns off the TV, sets his dishes in the sink and goes down the hall to Cas's room. He opens the door just in time to catch him stripping off his soiled T-shirt. Already down to his boxers. It's a combination of the sight of the muscles moving in Cas's back, and the light evidence of stubble that shadows his face and neck that starts the thought going. It's not until they're lying in the dark that Dean realises why it seems weird.

He can't pinpoint the moment Castiel stopped being a kid, but he has. The man lying next to him is just that, a man.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean is 6 – Castiel is 4

The fire has engulfed most of the building, the fire department are fighting a losing battle and they know it. Across the street on the porch of one of his parent's friends, Dean Winchester watches his home and his parent's burn together.

He barely remembers how he got out. Just that he heard his Dad yelling at him, from the next room, saw the flickering light of a fire nearing full strength. He'd run towards his parent's room at first, finding the way blocked by flames, heard his mother begging him to go and find his brother and get him outside.

Castiel was still asleep, or else unconscious from the smoke. The door to his room was stuck fast, expanding in the intense heat. Dean burnt his hand twice trying to get the handle to move, yelled himself almost mute trying to wake him up. His eyes stung with the smoke, sweat making his hands slip, fear making them shake.

His Mother shouted his name, a question. _Is he ok?_

"Mom!"

His Dad yelled back, voice rough and desperate.

"Dean, get your brother and _get out!_"

Finally he got into Castiel's room, saw the huddled shape of his unconscious brother. Dean had hauled him up, half dragged him to the window and somehow gotten them both onto the roof of the garage.

No one had followed.

Inside he could hear his Dad shouting, hear wood cracking like gunshots. His mother had screamed, a hoarse shriek of pain. Then silence for a long time.

Now he could only hear the firemen shouting to one another. The house lit up behind them, smoke pouring upwards into the sky, black and acrid.

Castiel stirs in his sleep, turning into the arm Dean has wrapped around him. Everything they'd ever had was gone, Mom, Dad, the house, everything they owned – burnt and burning and just _gone_.

Castiel was all he had left. He squeezed him tighter.

Castiel gripped back.

Dean is 16 – Castiel is 14

Christmas is never a good time for them. Sure Bobby and Ellen do their best. The decorations go up, they watch Christmas specials on TV and they get the big meal just like a normal family. There are even presents, mostly the same for everyone; chocolate, scarves, K-mart action figures and maybe something for the rec room.

It's the anniversary of their parent's death. Nothing changes that.

Of course Cas doesn't remember that. He knows his Mom and Dad are gone, but not when it happened and he certainly doesn't remember the night itself. So only Dean, Bobby and Ellen know that John and Mary Winchester burnt to death on Christmas eve.

So, yeah, Dean hates Christmas.

His earliest memory of it is, not surprisingly of the morning after his parent's death. He'd spent it with Cas at the police station, waiting on their social worker and the decision of what the hell was going to happen to them. He sat for hours on a plastic chair, holding Cas so tight he's surprised the poor kid survived, convinced that they were never going to see each other again.

Subsequent years have left behind better memories, but not by much. He always feels crappy, always cracks at some point and never manages to make the day any good for Castiel.

They wake up to the sound of Meg and Ruby shouting down the hall, already going through their presents. Dean half buries his face in his pillow. Even though the actual anniversary is Christmas eve, it's Christmas itself that really gets to him. He would honestly give anything to just sleep through it. But then Cas is still a kid, still enjoys it, and that's reason enough for Dean to suffer through it.

Dean is 17 – Castiel is 15

Somewhere Ruby and Meg are crowing over their presents. Just another Christmas fucking morning. Dean turns his face into his pillow and braces himself for the relentless cheer and the pitying looks of Ellen and the gruff support of Bobby. He's just started levering himself out of the bed when Castiel tugs him back down, moving over from his side of the bed so they're pressed side by side.

"What...?" Castiel just buries his face in Dean's shoulder and seems set to go back to sleep. "Cas...it's Christmas, remember?"

"You hate Christmas" comes the blurred response.

"No I don't" he replies, stubbornly. Castiel raises himself just enough to stare him out with his freakishly knowing eyes. "Ok...so I do." Castiel drops back against him again.

"So this year we don't do Christmas."

"Cas..."

"Sleep. Or do whatever, but nothing Christmassy." His voice is stern, even half buried as it is in Dean's T-shirt. "Bobby's saving us some food for later."

"Awesome." Dean lets his head fall back onto the pillow. Not that he's letting Castiel boss him around. He is pretty tired.

That year they don't do Christmas. They stay wrapped up in sleep as long as possible. Sometime in the early afternoon they get up, Castiel reads and Dean listens to his rock compilation tapes in order. The only thing that they don't avoid is the presents, mainly because Dean got something for Cas anyway and he doesn't want it going to waste.

His gift is several books, each lifted from the library and with the barcodes torn off. They range from Greek Mythology to Chinese Philosophy to an Encyclopaedia of Mystery Authors. Castiel has already read his own collection of books so many times over that he's just matching his memory with the words on the page. So he's grateful.

His gift to Dean is also stolen. It's not that Bobby and Ellen aren't generous but their present buying allowance was small and so they'd clubbed together to get Bobby and Ellen a bottle of wine, which ended up as a bottle of single malt (which Bobby had to buy anyway, age restrictions and all – but it was the thought that counted.)

Castiel had lifted him a new Zeppelin T-shirt.

"I look trustworthy." He says in response to Dean's shocked face.

It's still the day he knew his parents were gone forever. The first day he spent almost completely alone in the world. But he's grateful for that _almost_. For the fact that by some miracle of confused, smoke choked, filthy coincidence, he ended up with Castiel.

Dean is 19 – Castiel is 17

He has trouble getting to sleep. For some reason the nearness of Castiel, usually comforting, makes him uncomfortable. His brother is almost grown, possessing the shape and movements of an adult, of a man and not a child. He still loves him, still looks on him with affection. He doesn't want Castiel to leave, either the apartment or the bed. It's the opposite, he wants, _needs_, him closer. And it terrifies and disgusts him in equal parts.

Castiel is his _brother_. He doesn't even need to tell himself that, he knows it on a cellular level. Castiel is his brother, and Dean can't remember life without him. But he can't remember life with his parents either, and that's the trouble. Dean has been Castiel's only family for so long that he's started to lose sight of what that actually means. The idea of family is that they support you, but that you grow up with them and then leave. You find other people, you create new, extended families and you see your own family only at the holidays.

He can't imagine Castiel sleeping in a separate bed. Let alone sharing one with a woman he hasn't met yet, hundreds of miles away. Can't imagine not eating breakfast with him every morning, sharing the couch every night.

It's like the past months of enforced Zachariah-induced separation have intensified the connection they already had. Because when Castiel was just _there_, on the other side of the bed, he didn't have to think about what that meant. Didn't have the opportunity to realise that he _needed_ him there. And now it's only getting worse, having Castiel back, just for the night, makes him realise how tenuous his hold on his brother is. Castiel will be 18 in a matter of months, able to move out, go to college, have a life away from Dean.

The ache that knowledge causes, that Castiel will leave and that Dean will never find any bond that replaces what they had, is deep and enormous and painful. It's that ache that makes him want Castiel, want more than just the unconscious companionship of sharing a bed. He wants to touch his brother. Lay hand to skin and connect, know him. Wants so desperately to not be alone, to prove that Castiel is still there.

Under the sheets he curls his hands into fists. Forcing himself not to reach for the warm, slight body on the other side of the mattress. Forcing the knowledge that it's _wrong_ into the ache in his chest. Trying to make it understand.

He dreams about the fire.

It's not the first time he's had nightmares about it. He dreams that he's trapped in the house all the time. That none of them can escape or that he's trying to put the fire out and only making it worse. They usually leave him shaken, upset even. This time it's so much worse.

He's sitting on the porch across the street, watching the firemen trying to contain the fire and extinguish the wreckage. The house is lit with surreally intense fire, it burns high and bright, black smoke everywhere. He knows his parents, probably dead by now, are burning in that house. In his home, his family, his life, is being taken apart, eaten up and tortured in the inferno.

He's alone.

He's alone because Castiel is burning too.

Burning across the street with Mary and John Winchester. Burning because Dean wasn't there to save him. Burning away into the same blank of memory Dean lost his parents to. Just a memory of his four year old brother, sleeping as he burned.

The realisation hits him like a knife, jerking him awake.

His first thought is that he must have made a sound, scratch that. The wetness on his face tells him he wasn't just making noise, he's been crying. There's no other reason he can think of that Castiel would be holding him like he is.

He wakes up, twitching slightly into consciousness. Held half upright, half against his brother. His face is pressed into Castiel's neck, his shoulder at an angle in the centre of his chest. Castiel's arms are holding him there, stroking his back through the thin cotton of his shirt. His mouth moves against the hair just above Dean's ear.

"It's ok, it's ok. It's not real. I'm here." Over and over, gently and slow, as Dean's heart stops thumping and the last few wretched tears make their way down his face, soaking into Castiel's shirt. His hands grip back at his brother's sides, anchoring him, his mouth pressing into the curve of Castiel's throat, to the join in his shoulder and back. Mouthing the skin, the ache and the fear that Castiel was really _gone_ choking off the thought that this isn't right.

Castiel's breath hitches, but his hands continue to stroke Dean's back, his body relaxes under Dean's earnest touch. And when Dean's torturous working of the sensitive flesh leads him to his mouth, he doesn't pull away.

It's Dean who breaks the kiss, rough and desperate as it was, but still a kiss. He jerks away, horror mapping over his features. He takes in their proximity, they're legs tangled beneath the sheets, with a kind of despair. Fixing on his brother's reddened mouth and the small path of bruised, laved flesh on his throat.

"Cas...Fuck, I'm sorry." His face nearly crumples again, because this is too much. He fell asleep knowing that Castiel was going to leave him, then lost him to the fire that had taken everything else, and now he was losing him because of one stupid mistake. "I'm so sorry" his eyes burn again and he twists away.

Castiel catches him firmly, drawing his face back to his own. Dean tries to pull away from his brother's mouth, but Castiel stubbornly chases his lips, catching on them and pulling him back into a kiss. For a second it's a dry, taught brushing of lips. Dean's own disgust and need warring in him and making him tense up. Castiel is trembling beneath him, around him, but still intent. Their mouths open almost simultaneously in a rush of warmth and wet. Dean moans in surprise, Castiel whimpers against his mouth at the noise.

They separate to breathe in snatches, mouths clashing desperately back together. Dean shifts, or Castiel moves and somehow Dean is on top of his brother. They're both shaking, shaken, and Castiel is already half hard beneath him, panting and groaning every time Dean moves against him.

"Dean" he manages to get out, half way between a gasp and a moan. "Dean...please..." and somehow Dean gets a hand between them, sliding over the twitching muscles of Castiel's abdomen, between their heated, expectant flesh. He shuffles the cloth between them, exposing and encircling them both. Castiel throws his head back against the bed, arching into his touch. Dean holds himself over him, lips meeting his exposed throat.

"...uh...oh... f-fuck..." Castiel jerks, sliding against Dean's hand and cock in a rush of sticky sensation. Dean thrusts back, murmuring his brother's name into his neck. Agonised moans and a litany of _Please_ and _Dean_ and _More _fall from the mouth of the man underneath him.

Dean strokes them both harder, faster, the slow build of pressure amplifying from an ache to a throbbing urgency. Castiel's hand joins his own, taking hold of Dean and tugging at the warm, wetness of him. Dean's left working Castiel, and Castiel alone, to his orgasm, which breaks a split second later. He jerks as if it's being wrenched from him, shuddering as hot slickness covers Dean's fist. Dean comes with a few more rough, insistent touches, "Cas" flying from his lips like something between a warning and praise.

They lie for a while, still stroking at each other until over sensitivity makes them shiver. Castiel seems perfectly content to let Dean lie, half on top of him with their bellies slick with cooling ejaculate. So Dean does. He's warm, sated and can feel Castiel's hand slowly petting his hair.

"You ok?" He whispers. Shame and regret burn dimly at the back of his mind, he knows that this will all look different tomorrow morning. Castiel buries his nose in Dean's sleep mussed hair, huffing a breath that makes his skin twitch.

"Mmmm...?...Yeah, I'm good." Dean relaxes. If Castiel is fine, then he's fine too, at least for now, tonight. Together they slip back into sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean is 8 – Castiel is 6

Castiel's first memory, oddly enough, is of being alone.

It's sometime during his first year at school, separated from Dean for hours every day. The memory is of standing in the yard as the other kids are collected by their parents. Their older brothers and sisters join the group, or else wander off with their friends. Slowly the yard empties until it's just Castiel. It's quite cold, so it must have been late in the year.

Dean doesn't come.

The lights in the outer buildings have started to go out, leaving the assembly hall the only occupied place. It's not dark but it's not light either, the uneasy space between afternoon and early winter evening. Castiel walks towards the hall, trailing his bag. He spots Dean through the window, stacking the equipment from the gym cupboard.

Dean starts at the pale face in the window, then recognises him and smiles easily. He makes a gesture, _two minutes_, and goes back to his work.

They're a half hour late getting back to the home. It doesn't strike him as unusual until much later, that his only family, his future guardian, was stuck in detention. Its years before he begins to see that Dean, strong, confident, older, Dean...is only two years older than himself.

Dean is 18 – Castiel is 16

Although disorientating at first, Castiel eventually gets used to the fact that sometimes, without warning, he will wake, shuddering with release. Once the orgasm subsides he becomes aware of Dean next to him. Always making sure he's ok, that whatever coaxed the reaction from him has left him sated and not disturbed. It's nice, having a warm body beside his own. Without it he can imagine the afterglow being lonely and brief.

The only bad thing about the experience is that it takes Castiel several seconds to separate the Dean beside him, from the Dean in his dreams.

Despite what most people think, he isn't entirely socially stunted, he knows it's inappropriate. For this exact reason he keeps the knowledge to himself. Dean is his brother, his only family, his only _everything. _Damaging their relationship is not an option for Castiel. Therefore some secrets, like this, must be kept. Some things, like Michael, like Dean's conquests, like his own confusion, must be borne.

It doesn't change the fact that he dreams about him.

They're strangely vivid, though he never remembers the details on waking up. Just that there is Dean, as there has always been. And warmth. And a kind of contact, a touch, which he never feels, has never felt, in his waking life. He almost wishes he could be disgusted by the way he feels in these dreams. But really they're pleasant, and his body reacts to them accordingly. And whilst a part of him rankles at the fact that it's his brother, the rest is quietly unsurprised. Dean is everything he's ever needed, the only source he has for comfort, companionship and affection. It's been that way for ten years, since before he can remember. So he can reason that where some people are orientated towards women, or men – he is orientated firmly towards Dean. Only Dean.

Not the he will ever have Dean. Castiel knows his brother is firmly interested in girls, so even without the obvious problem of their shared blood he knows he hasn't a hope. Castiel harbours no illusions about Dean, and cares enough for his brother that he would never reveal or attempt to act on something that would damage him. Dean knows what is right, and his morals also affect Castiel – the things he wants are not right, or good or permissible. And so he protects Dean from them.

But he has him for the foreseeable future. For the sleep warm in-between times where he is not restricted by what is appropriate or possible. And waking up, prickling with sweat, muscles tensing and releasing in a single spasm of honest _pleasure_. He is at least allowed the familiar pressure at his side, the light touch of Dean's mouth at his ear, _You ok?_

And it's enough.

Dean is 19 – Castiel is 17

Dean wakes before Castiel, inches out of the bed and makes it to the shower without waking him. Once safely in the narrow plastic cubicle he turns the water as high and hot as it will go, turning the spray first to the flaking mess on his stomach, then to his chest, his face and neck. The real or imagined scent of Castiel remains, the smell of both their bodies mingling. He scrubs at his reddening skin, suppressing a shudder and gritting his teeth with grim determination.

By the time Castiel has roused himself, registering the cold place in the bed and having taken his own shower, Dean is on his second cup of coffee. Castiel gets his own cup in silence, sitting at the tiny kitchen table. Dean stays leaning against the counter across the room.

"It's ok you know" Castiel flinches as Dean slams his mug against the counter, but he doesn't drop his gaze.

"No Cas, it is _not_ ok." His face twists with disgust. "You're my _brother_, and now..."

"I'm still your brother" Castiel replies evenly. "and it's ok, last night was..."

"Incest, Cas" Dean spits "Sex with a minor who is also my brother."

"We didn't have sex." It's true but barely halts Dean's tirade.

"Oh yeah, great, everything's fine then. Jesus Cas!" and the look in his eyes is so tortured that Castiel just can't watch, because Dean's falling apart. "I touched you, I made you come, that's not ok...and I should have seen this was going to happen because, We...we haven't been right, ever. Not since...well it's not exactly normal to still sleep next to your brother when he blows his load in the night, even without lying next to you afterwards." He heaves a breath. "We are fucked Cas, ok? We are So. So. Fucked. And we're wrong and I can't fix it, I can't make us normal again." He stops, working the heel of his hand against his closed eyes. He hadn't expected all that to come out.

The words are so ugly now they've been spoken, more so than they were just buzzing through his mind. Because what he's said is true, it's descriptive and it's exactly what they've done. But it was never ugly. Never as crude as he's making it out to be. It was just, well, love, Dean guesses. It was him and Cas and it was ok, at least for a while. It's hard to hurt his brother with it, with all the times they've spent together. But it's harder to stay this far away from him now that he knows what he can have, what Castiel is prepared to give. Especially now that the grief that washed over him in the shower is slowly crumbling under Cas's soft silence.

The next thing Dean's aware of is Castiel gently laying a hand on his shoulder, he flinches as though burnt. The hand returns, patiently and this time Dean lets Castiel draw him into one of their rare embraces. There's nothing overly intimate about it at all, it's just a normal hug. He's grateful for that.

"I love you, you know that?" Castiel states, quietly, somewhere over his shoulder.

"I know, I..." Dean squeezes his eyes shut in frustration. "I love you too, but..."

Somehow they move closer. He can feel Castiel's heart beating, the heat of his skin, the dampness of his hair, resting against his shoulder. His head moves, tipping upwards, a glimpse of innocent blue eyes and...

"It's ok" murmured just as their lips meet.

Dean pulls back after a few seconds of contact, breath coming in a rush, chest tight and hands clenched on Castiel's waist, even though the other man is just waiting.

"You want this?" he doesn't sound sure of himself, at all. Castiel knows he can't change his answer once it comes out. He's wanted this for a long time. Once Dean knows that it will change them, change how they work.

"Yes" he says, equally quiet. Dean's hand reaches his face, holding it carefully, considering. Castiel holds his gaze, wetting his lips lightly.

"But..."

Dean swallows hard and kisses him again. All the time with knowledge that this is Castiel. This is his brothers mouth, his brothers skin and hair and body that he's touching.

And he doesn't stop.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean is 18 – Castiel is 16

The first time they kiss, Dean is drunk and has forgotten by the next morning.

It happens like this.

One of Anna's friends, Lucy Something-or-other from the netball squad, throws a house party. Dean takes Castiel along because 1) Cas never goes anywhere and it's starting to worry him and 2) He kind of wants him there. So he and Castiel show up at the house and promptly lose each other in the crowded rooms.

Castiel spends most of the party either making awkward conversation or unabashedly looking through the bedrooms at the books and CD's that strangers own. Dean spends most of the party drinking whatever Anna's friend managed to dreg up for the occasion, a mixture of girl drinks and ancient liqueurs.

Dean is in all honesty, extremely drunk by the time he crosses paths with Castiel again. Thanks to a combination of tequila, jello shots and something pink, which may or may not have been a bad idea. So, under the caustic influence of kids-in-high school alcohol, he finds his brother just as the party is ending.

The last bus is already boarding as they reach it, scoring two seats at the back because it's mostly empty. In the warmth of the heating vent Dean feels chills raking through him, the alcohol meeting uneasily in his stomach. He ends up leaning heavily on his brother, who's leaning into the corner and supporting him gently, despite being a little drunk himself.

After a while Dean starts nuzzling his neck. There's really no other word for it, the slow rub of stubble and lips and the chill tip of his nose over his throat and the exposed V of skin revealed by Castiel's shirt. He tenses slightly, then relaxes, shoving Dean off would probably be the right thing to do, but it's kind of...nice. Really nice. And as Dean steadily makes his slightly inebriated way towards his mouth Castiel lets it happen, because he kind of wants it...now. He hasn't really thought about Dean like this before, as someone who gives him pleasure as well as comfort.

The kiss is a clash at first, awkward angles and drunkenness and inexperience. It slip slides into a filthy (and slightly more co-ordinated ) open mouthed slide of tongues, Dean's hands moving from the back of Castiel's head and the side of his face, down, settling on his crotch. His eyes are tightly shut, the touch intent and commanding, despite the needy sounds that catch at his throat. Dean wraps them both together and they move against each other, teasingly, desperately, for the duration of the journey.

When at last the bus stops and Castiel manages to get them both out, onto the sidewalk and into the cold air, he realises the immensity of the wrong that he's just committed. That they have just committed. He lets them into the home, gets himself and Dean to their room and turns his back on Dean as he gets undressed. For the first time he's conscious of his brother as a _man_, not just as Dean. It's strange the difference it makes.

That night is the first time he dreams of Dean, and wakes up already coming.

The next morning Dean's forgotten most of the latter half of the party.

Castiel doesn't mention it.

Dean is 19 – Castiel is 17

He isn't sure how much time has passed since he first kissed Castiel. Only that somehow they've moved from the kitchen to the second-hand couch in the living room. That and he's manoeuvred Castiel so he's stretched out beneath him, T-shirt abandoned somewhere in between. Dean can't see the look on his brother's face, but judging from the sounds he's making he can imagine it well enough. Eyes closed, laying dark lashes of pale skin, lips parted over clenched teeth, throat stretched back over the end of the couch.

He's been hovering over Castiel for a long time, kneeling on the carpet beside the sofa. His hands and mouth uncovering, mapping out the skin of his brother's neck, shoulders, chest, abdomen. Numb with the thought that this is _his_, only his, and could have been his for years. Virgin softness, pliant and warm, tasting more and more of salt and musk as Castiel sweats beneath him, arching into the pressure of fingers, lips and tongue. Dean drags his teeth over his hipbone, eliciting a truly, unfairly, pornographic moan from the man underneath him.

He glances up at Castiel, only to find him staring back, rapt.

"You sure?" and he's surprised how strained his voice is. Castiel just about manages a nod. His eyes have darkened, showing almost black beneath his mussed hair. He's panting, shaking slightly as Dean lowers his mouth to the skin just above his waistband, not breaking eye contact. He's rewarded with another moan, and Castiel lets his head fall back, resting a hand gently on the back of Dean's head, fingers curling into his still damp hair.

Gently, patiently, Dean draws down Castiel's loose sweat pants, not missing his brother's stuttering breath as he does so. He ghosts his hands over the newly exposed skin, lips following after, across the lower part of his stomach, thighs and hips. Castiel whimpers, a soft sound of frustration and inexperienced need.

"Shhhh." Dean exhales against his skin. "I know, I've got you." Though it's true that he's never done this before, he knows the rough mechanics, pressure points. He can make this good, as good as it should be.

Castiel makes a sound like he's dying as Dean takes him in, tongue flicking against his length on the way down. He secures Castiel's bucking hips and draws up almost completely before settling back down, rubbing his fingers intermittently at the base, and then behind, skating over the sensitive skin. Castiel cries out brokenly at each new touch, throat stripped raw, wrecked and urgent.

It should bother him, he knows that, taking Castel like this, hot and heavy in his mouth, tasting him like this – should feel wrong. But instead he's revelling in the noises his brother makes as he sucks him down, his own cock pressing urgently against his fly, pressure increasing with every groan and each obscene wet sound his mouth produces. Castiel tips over the edge quickly, unsurprising given that this is his first time, for anything, with anyone. He pulls away at the last second, stroking Castiel through it, fixing on his face as the body in front of his bucks and shudders.

When he finally stills, panting and trembling with aftershocks, Dean nudges him to one side, taking a place on the couch next to him. Castiel's sweats have joined his discarded shirt somewhere on the floor. It's an odd sight, Dean, still clothed and hard, nestled against the spent, naked body of Castiel. He turns, nuzzling Dean's chest sleepily, dodging a kiss and wrinkling his nose.

"That's disgusting" he mumbles, kissing Dean's neck instead.

"That's _you_." Dean retorts archly. He feels his brother hesitate, then draw back from his neck to kiss him purposefully on the mouth, tongue sliding against Dean's, sweeping the taste of himself from the warm, wet opening. He pulls away slightly, warm breath skittering over Dean's face.

"What about you?" he arches a little, a light hand brushing gently over Dean's crotch.

"I'm not going anywhere." He holds him tighter, tugging the plaid blanket from the back of the coach and dropping it over them both. "This is about you." Castiel watches him for a second, blue eyes carefully searching his.

"Are you...you don't regret this?"Still giving him an out if he needs it.

"It's your first time Cas, I wouldn't take that from you if I was going to regret it."

And for now at least, they both believe it.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean is 19 – Castiel is 17

The rest of the day is strange, mainly because it's pretty average. After Castiel takes his second shower of the day they settle back into their usual routine. Dean shoves the week's laundry into the machine, flips the TV to an afternoon movie and leaves Castiel to get on with his assignments for the week. After a while he gets together sandwiches for lunch and Castiel joins him in front of the second in a long line of promised crappy westerns.

The only difference is that after a few minutes Dean nudges Castiel so that he's lying half on the couch, half in Dean's lap. He can't seem to stop touching him now, not now that he's allowed. Stroking over Castiel's clothed skin chastely, running curious fingers through his drying hair, over the back of his neck. With half an eye on the movie he spends the next half hour enjoying the warm, half familiar, half newly arousing weight of his brother. Castiel's eyes are half closed, encouraging 'mmmm's' his only contribution aside from the occasional cat-like stretch. After a while his chaste exploration of Castiel becomes decidedly less so, hands snaking under his shirt to caress bare skin, finding hard and smooth and soft and rough places to familiarise themselves with.

"Man, this should not be turning me on." He murmurs, not with any guilt but with a kind of languid surprise. "John Wayne movies and my brother should not an arousing combination make." Castiel only huffs a laugh, thrusting lazily back against him, a moan brushes against the back of his neck.

"Whore." He maintains his steady groping nonetheless.

"Takes one- " The rest is lost as Dean twists him around and captures his mouth.

The make out session is probably the longest and most involved that Dean's ever been part of. It lasts for the rest of the movie, and the news, and partway through the next feature. Castiel sprawled on top of him struggling with the layers of Dean's shirts until he gets a taste of skin. Flitting between his mouth and exposed chest, licking a stripe over his ribs, nuzzling the softer places between the muscles. After a while he urges Dean onto his front, resting between his legs and continuing his ministrations on his back. Running his palms up to Dean's shoulders, nipping at the hollow of his back as Dean grinds himself into the couch below.

"_Cas_..." and he's surprised at how far gone he sounds, just how far he's managed to take him just by touching him.

"What?" he asks, quiet, almost unsure, which does nothing to subdue Dean's already desperate arousal.

"Here." He pushes himself up, dislodging Castiel, stripping him of his pants before shedding his own jeans. Then lying him down and covering his body with his own. Castiel's hands grip his back, his sides, tracing heat wherever they go. Dean can barely hold back, grinding and panting as the slighter form arches, bucks underneath him, cock nestled in the place between hip and thigh, sliding in slick sweat. Then they're coming, almost together, shuddering and losing rhythm as Castiel chokes a cry into his shoulder.

Lying still with the TV's flickering pictures casting the only light over their sweat soaked skin.

"God..." and he can't finish the thought, instead burying his face against Castiel's neck, breathing shakily.

It changes them, but not by much. Castiel still works at the diner after school, does his homework, cooks. Dean keeps up his double shifts at the bar and buys his rock and motor magazines, still saving for a car despite the fact that the rent nearly taps them out. He still needles Castiel when he burns something in the kitchen, they still talk about what happened at work that day and what they should get Bobby and Ellen for their respective Christmas presents. They're still brothers.

It's the little things that mark the differences.

The way Dean sometimes wraps his arms around Castiel as he works over the stove, pressing a brisk kiss to his neck before dodging away. Or how they lie together in bed, wrapped up in each other at night. The ways in which they come together, groping on the coach, sliding in the heated closeness of the shower or just honestly, carefully, in the confines of the bedroom. Not always for sex, or what passes for sex between them, but just to feel the solidness, the physicality of each other. They take they're pleasure when they can, after all the time they spent with others, or alone. Now that they can, they make the most of it.

Though it doesn't take long for Castiel to notice that Dean isn't being entirely relaxed with him. That when they're together it's always Dean who touches Castiel, not the other way around. They grope each other, but that's as far as he's allowed to go before Dean slides his mouth or hand over him, bringing him off with more practiced ease every time. But he never lets him reciprocate, they either grind against each other, or Dean goes down on him. As with the rest of their lives it seems that Dean is preoccupied with taking care of him, keeping him innocent and protected, and it saddens him and frustrates him in equal measure.

He almost forgets that however, the night Dean asks him to visit the bar. He's furnished Castiel with a fake ID and where better to christen it then the bar where he works?

Best of all? No one there has ever seen Dean's brother, they barely know he has one.

So when he shows up, just a little nervous in his blue button down and slacks, Dean's free to do whatever he wants. Suddenly it's not just another thing that they do, like sleeping in the same bed or trading pizza toppings, something that happens behind closed doors. This is real and out there for anyone, everyone to look at.

As he's dashing across the darkened bar with a tray of drinks, Dean makes a quick grab at his ass and grins.

"Hey sexy" eyebrows quirking, _Can you believe we can get away with this shit?_

Castiel finds himself a place at the long bar and orders a beer, backing it up with his ID. Sipping, he waits for Dean to find him again, and he does, leaning across the bar to kiss him, slowly, lazily. One of the other bar tenders, a shorter guy with a scruffy beard and a nervous squirrelly look, raises his eyebrows and grins. Dean grins back, then leans back to Castiel.

"This doesn't suck."

"No, it doesn't" He smiles back.

It just can't last forever.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean is 19 – Castiel is 17

The night of the visit to the bar is the first time they make love.

It's possibly one of the best nights of his life, standing beside Dean, stealing kisses and grasping touches between drinks orders. For the first time they belong to each other by choice, not just by birth. Dean's chosen him, they've chosen each other over everyone, anyone else. They are together. They are out in the open as lovers.

By the time they're in a cab on their way back to the apartment, Dean is all over him. It's strange, but then everything they've done in the last few weeks has been strange, but no less viscerally right because of that. He turns his body into Dean's heavy, possessive hands, rubbing against him sinuously, catlike and fragile. Dean moans, gruff and wanting against his ear.

"Fuck, Cas..." Hands and hot, wet mouth and tongue playing over him. Shirt tugged out of his pants, skin on skin.

The driver's eyes are pointedly turned away from them, from the two men groping in the back of his cab. So mundane compared to the truth, it's almost funny.

It's only been a few weeks, before which he'd barely thought about sex, beyond the occasional dream, which frankly didn't come close to the real thing. A few weeks and already he's somehow trained for this, expectantly hard at the lightest of Dean's touches. Wanting, needing him constantly. The tight warmth of his mouth or fist doesn't seem like it'll ever be enough.

Out of the cab they struggle for the door, opening it and staggering into the apartment, linked only by Dean's hands on Castiel's back. They're known here, they need to be careful.

Inside with the door closed, the heavy brown curtains already drawn, they can touch again. Somehow Castiel manages to divest himself of his own clothes in between tugging Dean's shirt and jeans off. Naked they end up on the bed, Castiel spread out, knowing that it's now or never as Dean lowers his mouth, pressing hungry lips to the light trail of hair on his abdomen. Just as his mouth edges dangerously close to the fragile, sensitive skin of his shaft, he grasps Dean's cheek and pulls him away.

Puzzled green eyes meet his own.

"Cas? You ok, or..." He sucks in a breath as Castiel pushes him slightly back, wrapping a hand around his own erection and stroking carefully, not pushing himself too far. His other hand gestures for the dresser on Dean's side of the bed.

"Top drawer." He manages.

Dean's eyes widen and darken as soon as he spots the lube, nestled in beside the scrappy magazines.

"You bought this?" His voice is rough. Castiel nods, desperately, taking the bottle when Dean offers it numbly. He wrestles with the top, one handed, until Dean takes it back, a small sound raking in his throat as he slicks the fingers Castiel offers him.

"Cas" His eyes follow Castiel's uncertain hand as it passes the one fisted around himself, sliding back over the sensitive space behind, pressing against the virgin pucker there. Dean knows that he's never done this before, is doing it now, for him, and what that means.

"You don't...I don't need this, if you're not ready?"

Castiel's eyes flutter shut and he gasps as he presses the first finger into himself, feeling it burn and stretch, clenched opening almost _swallowing_ around the digit, working it inside to the knuckle.

"Christ" Dean breathes, moving so he has a better view, Castiel obligingly flings his legs wider, spreading himself obscenely, finger working, twisting in place. It feels strange, an intrusion, too much and yet...not enough, like he hasn't reached far enough, opened wide enough. Which of course he hasn't, not for what he wants. He adds another finger, breath hitching as he pumps, hips heaving up against his own hand. Dean's palms, hot and damp, rub reassuringly along his thighs.

"Keep going" he practically growls, eyes not leaving the hungry skin stretched around Cas's fingers.

He works a third finger inside himself. An outright moan slips through the tense hinge of his jaw, body writhing and it's difficult to keep steady, to not speed his motions and finish like he wants to. The gentle touch of Dean's finger tips against his hole, already stretched tight and full, almost undoes him.

"Dean" his hips lurch upwards, to be slowly brought back to the mattress by Dean's guiding hand, murmuring softly and tracing calm circles on his skin.

"Cas...can I...please..." his finger returns, pressing insistently beside his own hand.

"God...please...please..._please_..." is all he can manage, over and over, spreading wider, impossibly wider, to allow the extra penetration. Dean groans, other hand falling to his aching, leaking cock, as Castiel's tight muscles clamp down on his finger.

Dean finds what he could not, sudden pressure against his prostate making him jump, twitching and thrusting back, feet finding the mattress for leverage.

"Inside." Dean looks up as Castiel speaks, gasping out the word, and _fuck_, he's never looked this filthy before. Chest reddened, skin running with sweat, hair thrust at angles, his eyes blank, body moving on autopilot, focusing only on _more_ and _want_. Cock dripping and painfully hard against his stomach.

"Inside. Now." He gets out, teeth set against the urge to come. Still Dean manages to get together enough control to hesitate.

"You're...sure?"

"I'm..." He whines, arching. "Just...come on, _Dean_...

It's the name that undoes him. He removes his finger, almost losing it at Castiel's mewl of frustration. Watches as Cas's reluctantly removes his own slick fingers, leaving him wet, wide open and ready. Dean wouldn't have instigated this, but he has missed the feeling of being inside someone. Though, the fact that it's Cas...his cock twitches urgently. This is going to be so good.

He slicks himself, pins Castiel, already writhing in expectation, firmly to the bed, inching his way past the suffocating, hot, constricting ring of muscle, into his tight body.

"...huh..." is the only sound Castiel makes, eyes squeezed shut as he forces himself to relax, the choked sound slipping out before he can contain it.

It takes an age to bottom out, Dean inching forwards only slightly, teeth clamped on the inside of his lip. It doesn't help that Cas keeps moving, arching up and thrusting against him. When he's finally situated he lets his head fall against Castiel's shoulder. The younger man mewls, internal muscles clamping down and still trying to bring him further in.

"Greedy...you're such a slut, Cas" he manages to pant affectionately, pulling his hips back in a lazy thrust. Castiel's broken moan of agreement is accompanied by another upward thrust of his hips. Dean is convinced he won't last long, not now that he's skin to skin, buried deep in hot, nubile flesh. Wrapping one hand around Castiel's erection he strokes quickly, redoubling the mewls that scratch at his brother's throat. He looks lost, between Dean's hand and the almost unbearable pressure on his prostate he's senseless to anything else going on around him. Dean nudges his mouth close to Castiel's ear.

"You feel...so..._good_, Cas" he growls, almost on the edge himself. "So...mmmm, uh...so fucking good."

It doesn't take long. Castiel comes with a shout, struggling and stiffening at the same time, striping his stomach before he lies still. He lets his legs fall wider, languidly, fingers twining with Dean's hair where his head is buried against his shoulder. When Dean's thrusts gain momentum, losing their smooth motion to jerking desperation, Cas's dick manages an interested twitch every time Dean catches his prostate. He takes the increased pace and pressure passively, opening up for it. Finally Dean reaches his own climax, collapsing on top of Castiel, coming hot and dirtily inside of him.

It's quite possibly the best thing he's ever felt.

Dean rolls onto his side, arms pulling Castiel against him as their breathing evens out and their sweat and collective fluids begin to cool. Dean nuzzles the base of his neck.

"Love you, you know that right?" He smiles, and Castiel feels it against his skin, followed by the warm lazy stripe of his tongue. "You're something else."

"Oh I'm perfect" he yawns, then lets his voice drop, gentle and low. "I love you too."

After that they sleep, dreamlessly, until late. Castiel is, surprisingly, the one to instigate round two, still wet and open from his first time. It's sweet and filthy and something akin to puppies play-fighting, a comparison neither of them feels like vocalising.

So it isn't until one that either of them gets up. Even then it's Dean who makes Castiel get out of bed to answer the door. It probably would have gone the same way whoever had gone, but later he'd wonder.

Castiel opened the door, baggy shirt displaying an incidental hicky, still smelling of sex and the oily, non-descript odour of lubricant.

Which gave Zachariah all the reason he needed to haul them both in for interviews.

Of course they'd been seen at the club. Someone from Cas's class, also with a fake ID, had seen him making out with his brother. He'd told his parents, because, fake ID aside, he was a good kid, and worried about the quiet, strange guy from fifth period English.

Parents called the police – police called the social worker – Zachariah pounced.

Sitting in a chilly interview room, having changed quickly into jeans and one of Dean's plaid shirts, Castiel wondered numbly what would happen to him. Another home probably. Mostly he was worried about Dean.

They were going to take him away.

So when Zachariah came in and sat down, he knew he had two options.

Lie and not be believed – then be kept from Dean and possibly never see him again, even if he didn't go to prison.

Tell the truth - then be kept from Dean and possibly never see him again, even if he didn't go to prison.

He went with option two.

"Castiel" Zachariah looked at him levelly, with, surprisingly, genuine concern. "You know this...arrangement with Dean...it's not right, you can see that, can't you?"

"A lot of things in my life are not 'right'." Castiel begins, because this is his chance, his only chance to defend both himself and Dean. "It's not right that I don't have my parents, that my only family, my only _friend_, is Dean. But that's what happened to us, that's how we work. So why can't he be this too? Why is it so bad that I don't just need my brother, I want him? I've _always_ wanted him" His eyes fall to the shiny black surface of the table.

"Oh Castiel"

The voice isn't Zachariah. When Castiel looks up there is a different man in the chair opposite, a younger, smaller man with a pointed nose and long blond hair, and the saddest eyes he's ever seen.

"I'm so sorry, brother. I truly am."

The man snaps his fingers softly.

And he remembers.


	7. Chapter 7

_Just so you know, aside from indulging my worrying incest-kink, the only thing I knew about this fic was that it would end like this. Though I think there are a few more chapters to go after this. The rest was just spur of the moment stuff, so thanks to everyone who reviewed, this was my first truly graphic story, so it's nice to know there are demented kinky people like me reading this stuff _

_Also, I have no idea if the ages here are right, but it's set in between series 5 and 6. I happen to think Sam is mostly a shitty brother, though he does have his moments. Anyway -_

Dean is 43 – Castiel is 2,480,329

As the millennia of lost memories organise themselves into some semblance of order, Gabriel waits. The illusory figure of a seventeen year old Jimmy Novak remains in place, but the dampened grace of Castiel's true form is released with his memory. The faint outlines of black wings fan upwards from the skinny frame, he looks every one of his two million years, and yet so young.

Castiel finally asks the question Gabriel has been waiting for. Bypassing the obvious 'how are you alive?' in favour of,

"What was the purpose of this?" When Gabriel doesn't respond immediately he elaborates. "This trick, what was its point?"

"It's not a trick" Gabriel intones, seriously. His face is both remorseful and infinitely sad. Unnerving given what Castiel knows of the archangel's prior demeanour. In the wake of Castiel's damning silence Gabriel sighs and continues, "Ok, the fake parents, the fire, the children's home? That was all an illusion. The rest was real" he stresses that word 'real', as though it should mean something. When Castiel still doesn't respond he runs a hand over his face, breaking his steely archangel appearance.

"I was just trying to do something _nice_, ok? Sort of a 'thanks for helping out with the whole Lucifer-Michael -showdown-on earth-death-a-palooza' type...thing."

"Very thoughtful. Thank you" and if Castiel didn't look so utterly miserable Gabriel would probably have popped him somewhere awful by now.

"I didn't know" he murmurs, still looking intently into Castiel's eyes. "I thought...hell, Sam wasn't a good brother even when he was alive, and now Dean thinks he's stuck in the pit...and you're, ok, as a little bro, better than Raph anyway and it's not like you've gotten on better with your family... I just thought you'd make each other happy."

Castiel snorts bitterly.

"I didn't know you felt that way." Gabriel mutters gently. "Either of you."

"You could have stopped it. You _should_ have stopped us." Castiel insists, pain and a violent kind of shame in his voice.

"I had other things to attend to." Gabriel manages to regain some of his grandeur, "I just set up the scenario, I gave you the memories, let you move out of the home...by the time I saw what was happening, what was going to happen..."

"It was too late" Castiel finishes, brokenly.

"If it helps, you're still a better brother than Sam" Gabriel jokes gently. Castiel doesn't smile.

"Sam didn't lead him into incest."

"It wasn't incest...not technically, besides, you said it didn't matter."

"It didn't matter to them." Castiel shows his first real emotion since he regained his memory, stressing his words sharply. "They..." He breaks off, frustrated by his ineloquence. "They were in love."

"You're still in love." Gabriel points out, stubbornly. Castiel looks at him as if he's just committed the ultimate betrayal.

"Dean won't want me." He says, instead of the expected _"No I'm not"_

"He's always wanted you." Gabriel says baldly. "Hey, you said it, you don't just need each other, you want to be together, even now it's not necessary."

Castiel says nothing.

"I'm going to give him his memories back, if that's what you want. Then it's really up to you." Gabriel waits.

"Return them to him." Then, as an afterthought. "Please."

"See, you're fitting in better already" Gabriel musters up a half smirk. "I hope you two crazy kids work it out."

A second before Gabriel disappears he detects a whispered, "Thank you brother."

His last thought before he touches a startled Dean Winchester on the forehead is, "You'd better appreciate him, or I'll take him back." Because he meant it – Castiel really is a good brother.


	8. Chapter 8

_With 'Caged Heat' having just aired I'm feeling a bit...dead, on the destiel front. Not really liking the new series much. So to that end, here is, what is probably going to be the last part of this fic. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, they seriously make my day. Hope you enjoyed it and if you didn't, hey, then you write one - there isn't enough incest for this pairing. _

_BTW – just remembered what inspired this – Check out 'A Wincest Story' (author unknown at this point) if you get the chance, it's fluffy and not really smutty at all – but this is where my mind went from it. _

Dean is 43 – Castiel is 2,480,329

Dean's already taken stock of himself, gone through the weirdness of being nineteen again. He feels weird knowing that what he thought of that morning as a fully formed body, has yet to develop the bulk, the sheer mass he's become used to. He feels small, defenceless.

Dean finds Castiel sitting on a plastic chair outside of the interview room. It's weird to look at him, to see a slightly coltish teenager in place of his other self, his vessel. His memories are still a little shaky, his real life fitting together with his trickster-enhanced existence. But he can remember Castiel the way he looked, looks, in reality. Older, stronger and alien in the body of Jimmy Novak. The kid in the oversized plaid shirt, bundled tightly into himself on the chair, is not the same man. And yet he is, inside him, somewhere, is an angel.

It's Castiel, comrade, saviour, infuriating presence, traitor, friend and immortal being. Who curled a hand around his wrist, turned him from Alistair's rack and murmured 'You can stop now.'

But he's also his brother, his saviour, an infuriating presence, his friend, his family. Who kissed him, held him in the grips of another nightmare and whispered, 'It's ok, I'm here.'

Add to that the fact that he can remember the taste of him, can recall in Technicolor detail every touch he's laid on the skin before him. Every lick and thrust embedded in the memory of muscles that just want to reach for him and feel him, to make sure he's still there...well, it's an awkward situation.

Castiel looks up, wide blue eyes weighted with knowledge and age. His tense face relaxes, then stiffens, as his natural reaction to Dean is overtaken by the expectation of anger.

Dean lowers himself into the seat next to him.

"Your family? Is screwed up." He mutters, no trace of humour making it into the words.

"Gabriel didn't mean for this to happen" Castiel replies, like he feels he should defend his other brother. (_only_ brother, Dean corrects himself, or at least 'one of thousands that don't include Dean Winchester).

"He should have known something would. I mean, when do I ever get things right?"

"Dean..."

"No" he cuts him off, adult anger mixing with teenage angst, dropping like a burning plane into the pit of his stomach. "It's...I failed at being a brother the first time round, I let Sam die, more than once. I let him turn into a monster." He almost chokes on the word. "I failed Dad, my Mom's family, Bobby...I failed _you_... I wasn't righteous enough, I didn't believe in anything, except Sam...I nearly ruined everything, anything that ever was, especially you."

"You did not fail"

Dean laughs bitterly, stopping only when a warm hand drops to his knee, a gentle touch that draws him back to the man sitting beside him.

"You succeeded where countless angels had failed. You defeated Lucifer. You stopped them from obliterating existence." He drives the point home, gently and insistently, knowing Dean can't argue. "And...you were an excellent brother, to both Sam and...myself."

"Brothers don't..."

"Brother's love each other." Castiel's tone brooks no argument. "And you continued to love Sam even when you found his choices to be unequivocally poor." He pauses and seems to lose his angels certainty, becoming almost visibly smaller and more human. "You loved me even though I wanted you, knowing it would cause you distress. Knowing how much it would cost you." Guilt edges those words, and for the first time Dean wonders what Castiel has been thinking these past weeks. That maybe he considers himself the downfall of their chaste existence.

"Cas...about, what happened? It wasn't your fault, you know that, right? I mean...those memories Gabriel gave us, I felt things about them, about you, that weren't, entirely... and that was before we _did_ anything." Castiel blinks, registering the meaning of Dean's words. The gentle arm laid over his shoulders is another surprise, and he hesitates, resisting it slightly. Dean looks worried.

"This is...if you don't want me to, I won't."

Castiel moves with the arm, allowing Dean to hold him, pressing his back into the familiar chest and closing his eyes briefly.

"I love you Cas" Dean buries his face in the messy dark hair of his brother, the angel Castiel.

"I love you too." Sleepily he opens his eyes, searching those above him for hesitance or conflict, finding none.

"What do we do now?" Dean murmurs, hands gently finding places on Castiel's body to soothe and stroke, reassuring himself that it's the same body he entered last night, the same body that loved him back.

"We'll wake up as we should be tomorrow." Castiel sighs, "And there will be demons and war, as it was."

"Great."

"And...I will stay with you." He wraps hesitant fingers through Dean's "I would like to stay...brother"

"Always welcome" Dean grins, light voiced, though he catches a faint gleam in Castiel's eye, something not unlike desire, that makes him feel just the tiniest bit hopeful about the future.

Because they'll never be just angel and prophesised saviour, not that it was a simpler relationship. And they aren't Castiel Winchester and Dean Winchester, teenage lovers, product of the same parents.

But they're still brothers, in the ways that count.

And in a way entirely unique to themselves.


End file.
